Devilspawn
by TicTactful
Summary: An Excalibur fic. One of the team members is having something of a crisis of faith ...


Disclaimer: All these characters don't belong to me (I just wish they did). They are the property of Marvel, yada, yada, yada ...  
  
Feedback: I would REALLY appreciate reviews!  
  
The church was cold and empty and still. The damp chill of an April morning seeped through the doors and windows, leeching the place of its warmth and comfort.  
  
The sanctuary especially seemed comfortless, dimly lit as it was on a Thursday morning. It was empty save for one small soul, whose quiet weeping echoed in the bell steeple.  
  
She knelt slumped over the altar, hair hanging loose and disheveled over it. From one limp hand dangled a golden necklace, a tiny cross suspended from a delicate chain.  
  
She had been there for hours now, draped over the altar, mourning alone in the silent church. She knew she had to get up, to get on with her life, but the strength was not in her to do so.  
  
Finally she lifted her head a fraction of an inch to whisper, "Why, Lord? Why him?" before collapsing into tears again.  
  
Rahne Sinclair was having a crisis of faith.  
  
She continued to lie there, sobbing the question over and over, for several minutes more. Slowly she quieted. Then her small fist tightened around the golden chain, and she spoke into the emptiness.  
  
"He loved ye, Lord, whatever ye did tae him. He trusted ye. An' look wha' ye let happen tae him. How could ye dae it? Just sit an watch tha' gentle soul suffer? Ye're a cruel God, if ye're really there at all. An' yer sense of irony is verra finely tuned indeed. A little tae finely if ye ask me. All the curses ye heaped on tha' man, an' he never doubted ye. But A'm beginnin' tae doubt, Lord. A'm beginnin' tae doubt."  
  
  
  
Rahne had been sitting on a bench on the shore at Muir Island two evenings - though it seemed like an eternity - earlier, enjoying the smell of the salt and the soft song of the waves. When she was weary or sad, she had always been able to go there and find God in the gentle peace of the sea.  
  
But then, just after dark, the angry roar of a motorboat had cut through the sounds of solitude, cutting through the gray ocean toward the island. Rahne had run down to the shore to meet it, wondering who could be calling at that hour.  
  
The boat, full of men in dark ski masks, had scarcely slowed as it raced past her, spraying her with icy water. A man's voice had screamed, "For humanity!" and a huge dark lump had been thrown at Rahne's feet, knocking her over. She had sputtered for a moment and tried to scramble away, thinking it might be a bomb - but then something familiar had caught her eye.  
  
Kurt's tail was floating limply in the water at Rahne's feet.  
  
Fighting down the wail rising in her throat, she had flung herself forward, shouting, "Mum! Amanda! Kitty! Anyoooone!" She had seized Kurt by the shoulders and dragged him out of the water, praying to God he wasn't hurt too badly.  
  
"Kurt? Kurt, can ye hear me?" She had made it a little further up the shore, into the light cast by a lantern near one of the benches, and stopped.  
  
And screamed.  
  
"Rahne? Du bist da, liebchen?"  
  
Kurt's voice was so raw, so pained. Rahne had begun to cry helplessly. "Ach, ja, Kurt, it's me. A'm here."  
  
"Was ... was ist los, liebchen?"  
  
"Nothin', Kurt, nothin' is wrong." She'd turned her head, screamed again, "Mum! Amanda! Pete!"  
  
"Mein Gott ... das schmerzt ..."  
  
"A know it hurts, Kurt. Try tae hold still now an' don' thrash aboot. Be a good lad, now. Muuum!"  
  
"Unser Vater in dem Himmel ... dein Name ... geheiligt ... dein Wille geschehe auf Erden ... in Himmel ... und vergiß uns unser Schulden ... "  
  
"Oh, nae, Kurt, nae tha'. Nae tha', nae yet ... " But in her head she was following along, knowing it must be so. Our Father which art in Heaven ... hallowed be thy name ... thy kingdom come, thy will be done, in Earth as it is in Heaven. And forgive us our trespasses ... as we forgive those who trespass against us ...  
  
Kitty and Pete had found them there the next morning, Rahne weeping brokenly with her face buried in Kurt's indigo-blue fur, Kurt with a stake through his chest and the words "Devilspawn" and "Mutie demon" scrawled across his body.  
  
"He believed in ye somethin' fierce," Rahne told God. "Ye, who made him a freak tae be hated an' scorned by everyone tha' knew him. Ye, who put such a good heart behind such a frightenin' face. Ye, who sat in yer high heavens an' watched him die an' never lifted a finger against it. But why should ye have? Ye never much cared for him while he was alive, neither, did ye?  
  
"Mebbe it would ha' been different if he'd been killed in the line o' duty. We all know we might find ourselves in tha' position one day. Or even if he'd jus' been in a car accident or died quietly in bed - mebbe A couldae forgiven ye for tha', Lord. But tae let him be murdered - because o' the body ye gave him? Nae, Lord. Nae for tha'. Nae for such a waste, a cruel waste, as tha'."  
  
"Sae where does tha' leave us, Lord? Devilspawn like Kurt an' me. How am A supposed tae trust ye when ye show me wha' happens tae poor beasts like us? A cannae dae it, Lord."  
  
She stood slowly, the gold chain clenched in her fist. Kurt had given it to her for her birthday last year, and she had worn it under clothing and uniform alike since then. Only now had she taken it off.  
  
Gently she laid it across the altar. "Mebbe one day A'll be back for this, Lord. But A don' think so. 'Cause for me tae speak tae ye again ye'll hafta bring Kurt back tae us. An' ye're just nae in the habit o' doin' tha', now are ye?"  
  
Rahne walked to the door, stepped out into the fresh spring air, then turned in the doorway of the church to look back at the crucifix hanging above the altar.  
  
"A'll see ye in Hell, Lord."  



End file.
